


The Long Way Home

by arroways



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Angst, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, Lawyers, One Night Stands, Political Campaigns, Porn With Plot, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex, The First Order are the Republicans naturally, author did not know she had this public sex kink thing but it keeps coming up, author has a kink for legal jargon probably, consider this a "The Good Wife"-esque crossover AU, lawyer fuck buddies, lawyers with benefits, maybe The Good Wife meets White Collar meets Star Wars, there might be some House of Cards vibes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-16 14:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13638507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arroways/pseuds/arroways
Summary: Consider this the one night stand to enemies to fuck buddies to lovers to political rivals fic AU literally nobody asked for, but I was determined to write.Heavily inspired by shows like The Good Wife, Scandal, House of Cards, and White Collar. If that's your thing.Rey, a former public defender, moves to Chicago to join a liberal law firm led by Leia Organa. She soon gets caught in a tangled web of family secrets, corrupt politicians, and the lure of a bipartisan romance.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the following folks: [withoutawish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutawish/profile), [destinies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinies/pseuds/destinies), [afalsebravado](https://twitter.com/afalsebravado), [Elizabethtudor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabethtudor/pseuds/Elizabethtudor), and [cedarchip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarchip/profile) for all their help getting this off the ground.
> 
> There's going to be legal jargon in a few chapters, but I'll do my best to have a glossary. I've also done my best to recruit lawyer friends/paralegals to offer their input on the legalese, etc., but remember, this is fanfiction, and I'm hoping we can all have some suspense of disbelief.

_ “What are you having?” the bartender interrupts the young woman’s train of thought, leaning towards her as he wipes down the counter. _

_ “Can I get, uhhh....” _

_ “She’s having an old-fashioned,” declares a voice to her right. She turns to glare at the origin. _

_ Her stare softens as she sizes up the man who has settled on a bar stool three spaces down. Whether or not she consciously admits this to herself, he’s exactly what she had planned for tonight. It’s why she had chosen a luxe hotel bar downtown, instead of one of her usual dive bar haunts. _

_ “I’m having an old-fashioned,” she grins widely in agreement. The bartender makes a small noise of amusement to himself. He knows exactly how this night is about to go. For the both of them. _

_ Sure enough, within ten minutes, the man has relocated to the adjacent stool, and she’s leaning suggestively up into his personal space. Her hand is on his bicep (encased in bespoke Super 150’s wool, of course). She’s tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. _

_ Within forty-five minutes, his hand has found its way to her thigh. They’re both two drinks in, and the flush they both feel isn’t just from the alcohol. _

_ After an hour and a half, he’s flashing his room key at her and she’s grabbing him by the tie and dragging him towards the elevators. They stumble over each other a bit. He can’t stop playing with her hair, it’s in a looped bun he so desperately wants to pull loose. _

_ He pushes her up against the door of his hotel room, fumbling with the key card as he presses open-mouthed kisses to her neck. She’s unbuttoning his shirt already. And pulling his tie off. He gets the door open, and they stumble blindly back into the room. She drops his tie in the entryway. _

_ He lifts her up by her waist, a few inches off the floor, carrying her into the room before dropping her unceremoniously onto the king size bed. _

_ She gasps as he pushes the silk of her dress up around her waist.  _

_ “I don’t know your name,” she giggles as he pulls her to the edge of the bed and kneels on the ground before her, pressing his lips to her the newly exposed skin of her inner thighs. _

_ “Uh, Kyle,” he murmurs into her skin. She laughs loudly at his hesitation. _

_ “Okay. Then I’m Jackie.” She pulls that name from a coffee shop she'd spotted on the taxi ride here. Jakku Roasters, or something. There’s an understanding between them. Two can play this game.  _

_ Her hands rake through his hair as she pulls him closer. He fumbles to pull off her underwear, dragging the damp fabric down her thighs. Her eyes roll back into her head as he wastes no time, plunging his tongue deep into her aching center. _

_ “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he mumbles helplessly, his hands lazily traveling along the skin of her hips. _

_ “Let’s just – come on –” she pulls him up by fisting her hand in his hair and tugging, leaning forward to kiss him and taste herself on his lips. She reaches between her legs to bury two of her own fingers inside her, testing her readiness. He watches, enraptured. _

_ “Just – just take those off –” she disengages her fingers from between her thighs and reaches desperately for his trousers, yanking them open. She pulls his belt through the loops, and there's the sound of leather sliding against wool and coming free with a satisfying snap in the air. She throws it unceremoniously across the room, where it hits the wall with a loud smack.  _

_ He pulls his boxer shorts down to free himself, but he's still got his shirt and suit jacket on. She takes this opportunity to yank his shirt open – a button flies off, but that's the cost of doing battle – and she runs her hand down his sculpted chest, his defined abdomen. She’s momentarily in awe. _

_ "Just fuck me,” she insists, and he wastes no time. He pauses as he’s about to enter her, and she whimpers a little, squirming up into the flesh of his hardened length. _

_ “I just – do I need –” his voice is raspy, his eyes traveling to his luggage in the corner of the room. He’s always prepared. _

_ She rolls her eyes. “IUD, now get on with it,” and he inches into her, achingly slow.  _

_ She’s knowingly taken her chances here, because she could have allowed him to spend more time preparing her, and instead, he’s fucking massive and the ache stings slightly within her, but when he bottoms out it truly feels so fucking magnificent that she allows herself that one lapse in judgment. She can take an Advil or something later (or just savor the memory behind the ache) because as his pace quickens she can easily say this was one of her better impulse decisions she’s made in recent memory. _

_ She feels him so deep, her body accommodates him so graciously.  _

_ Her breath hitches with every thrust and moans crawl their way up and out her throat, rough and needy. This man has taken over her every thought, and now she knows this was what the movies and the books were talking about – getting fucked to forget, because there’s a few moments where she swears she forgets her own name (her actual name), forgets what she’s doing and where she’s going, why she’s been so sad for so long, and maybe, for just a moment, the way he’s whispering something unintelligible into her hair, the way his hands reach for hers and their fingers intertwine, it’s not that the emptiness is gone, but at this moment, she sets it on a shelf somewhere deep inside of her. _

_ She’s reminded that yes, she  _ can _ feel. No, she’s not as numb as she’s tricked herself into thinking she is. And honestly, that’s all she really needed.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, re: this little one night stand in the prologue? IN REALITY, FOLKS, even with an IUD/implant/birth control pill, y'all should use protection (condoms!) if/when having a one night stand with a stranger! PRACTICE SAFE SEX! Don't use fanfiction as your guide! Fanfiction is for fun and fantasy! Use sites like [Bedsider](https://www.bedsider.org/) instead. THE MORE YOU KNOW! 
> 
> (I told myself if I ever decided to publish anything smutty I'd include a disclaimer, so here we are)


	2. Walking the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FAMILY SECRETS! PLEA BARGAINS! GETTING HELD IN CONTEMPT! LEAN CUISINE!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TERMS TO KNOW:
> 
> Pro bono is the type of work a firm might take on voluntarily/without payment, usually for charity. Big law firms usually donate a portion of their billable hours to pro bono work.
> 
> 1099s are the tax forms freelance consultants have to fill out.
> 
> via Google: Securities fraud, also known as stock fraud and investment fraud, is a deceptive practice in the stock or commodities markets that induces investors to make purchase or sale decisions on the basis of false information, frequently resulting in losses, in violation of securities laws.
> 
> Also, keep [this image](http://www.berryreview.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/BlackBerry9780red.jpg?x38850) in mind.

“You’re not going to find what you’re looking for in this place, Rey. Not anymore,” Maz told her as they sat on a park bench, feeding the ducks. “I know you thought you’d find them here, but the trail’s gone cold.” Maz handed her a manila folder containing the results of a fruitless search for her family.

After this, Rey had dialed up a law school buddy of hers, who had made a call, and that person had made another call.

She’d given up, sobbed a bit over the private investigator bills which had gathered in addition to her law school debt, and then she packed up and made her way midwest, away from her obsession with a hopeless, futile search.

There was nothing left for her in the past. 

♟♟♟

“We’re hoping to plead it out on a misdemeanor.” Leia Organa shoves a poorly organized folio at Rey, a new junior associate at this law firm, who struggles to catch and juggle the haphazard pile of papers. Leia motions for Rey to accompany her down the hallway of a Chicago high-rise office building.

“You’re new here, and that’s fine, but like most big law, we donate ten percent of billable hours to pro bono. That’s you,” Leia looks over her shoulder, snapping her fingers at Rey for emphasis before throwing back a latte that an intern hands her.

“We thought this would be an easy, you know, one and done? But the governor wants to prove himself, so he’s going after folks like our defendant here to make a political stance ahead of election year. ‘Hard on crime’?” Leia mimics air quotes. “You know how it is with these… men,” she shudders, and pauses to take another sip. “Republicans.”

She stops, the intern and Rey both hanging on to her every word. Rey glances at the other girl, Rose, and realizes for the first time just how young she looks; round, plucky face and dark hair tied up in low pigtails. It’s not the usual look you’d find in a law office, but something about being tossed in the middle of all this with her puts Rey a little more at ease.

“I don’t think they’re even that concerned with justice. I think Snoke -” Leia grimaces, continuing her forward march down the hall, “Christ, what a weird name, how was  _ he  _ elected – I think he has the state’s attorney by the balls, honestly. And the ASA can  _ barely  _ think for himself, what a disappointment…” Leia pauses again, looking out through the windows of their high rise. She looks sad for a moment. “Could have been great. I digress.”

Something about that train of thought has distracted Leia. Rey knows better than to prod at the ASA comment. Leia continues, pointing at the papers in Rey’s hands, abruptly changing the subject back to the pro bono. “Just, you know. After the bail hearing, get physical copies of the protest permits. Focus on the CCTV footage. I already had a look at the evidence. Our consultant investigator can help you out. Name’s Dameron, he’ll be around here somewhere. Rose, with me!” Leia stalks off, the intern at her heels.

Rey practically slumps against the wall once Leia and Rose the intern are out of sight. She clutches the folder to her chest, wide-eyed and stricken. She gulps, before glancing left and right, trying to eyeball her way to her assigned office. She must have one. She  _ assumes  _ she has an office. She’s a fucking first-year junior associate, not a paralegal.

As she struggles internally, a man exits a doorway to her right and joins her in the hallway. He glances over, extending a smile and a hand for her to shake.

“Pro bono?” He inquires, and she grins in response as she returns the handshake, her eagerness nearly splitting the seams of her wide open.

“Yes, yes! That’s, that’s me. I’m so –”

“British?” He offers. A flush forms across the top of her cheeks. She has trouble with her accent here, especially inside the Loop.

“Columbia Law, actually,” she replies.

He shrugs. “They’ve got Harvard, they’ve got Georgetown. I don’t care. I just contract here. My name’s Dameron, by the way.”

“The investigator! Leia was saying –”

“Correct,” he smooths his hands over the front of his brown leather jacket.

Rey pauses to reflect on his interruption, as well as his unorthodox office attire. “Are you going to be able to help me out with the witnesses?”

He raises his eyebrows and smirks at her question, then shrugs confidently. “Like I said, I’m the consultant.”

She rolls her eyes. After a year working public defense in Boston, she knows it won’t be that easy. “And you must just love those 1099s,” she jokes, trying to knock him down a notch, before walking away in search of that  _ blessed  _ office of hers.

♟♟♟

Rey is determined to arrive obscenely early to the bail hearing. She’s met with the defendant three times this past week, preparing him, and at this point, she’s just hoping to get the guy out of central booking. Whatever it takes.

“Hold the door!” Rey barks, and a gloved hand reaches between the sliding doors of the courthouse elevator. She glides in, nodding at the man in the elevator. He’s tall, somewhere over six feet, with a five o’clock shadow and dark shoulder-length hair.

Fuck. Oh,  _ fuck. _

In what feels like some sort of cinematic flashback, she remembers the feel of lips on her thighs, on her neck. She remembers the taste of an old-fashioned; how it tasted in the glass, crisp and slick, compared to how it tasted on a tongue in the midst of a kiss, hot and heady. She squirms slightly and physically has to shake herself out of that reverie. 

As she does, she recalls how that encounter had ended, months prior, and anger pools in her chest. She feels the back of her neck flush. Her heart rate quickens slightly. So much for leaving the past behind her.

Rey notes the gubernatorial stamp on his briefcase, and her stomach lurches into her throat.

“You’re with the state attorney’s office?” she finds herself asking as casually as possible in an effort to fill the silence.  _ Please no. _

He turns his head, looking her up and down, eyes traveling obscenely from her head to her toes. His dark brown eyes flash with an emotion she can’t easily identify, and she feels herself physically recoil from the look in protest. What the fuck is he playing at?

“Ben Solo. ASA,” he responds, turning his attention back down to his crimson Blackberry as it chimes. She takes a moment to internally consider how antiquated the device is, in a state that has predominantly gone Apple. She bets it’s one of those open source versions. He’s still fiddling with it, and she realizes the crimson color is actually a weird, updated chrome type of material.  _ Fuck  _ this guy and his dumb, jailbroken, customized phone.

And so the game begins: are either of them going to acknowledge their prior... encounter?

She eyeballs him before looking away, pretending to read the safety certificate on the elevator paneling. His last name sounds familiar. She internally counts to ten in an effort to maintain her composure.

Rey also realizes he must be the ASA Leia mentioned earlier, with that sad look in her eye. There  _ had  _ to be a story there. She wishes she could inconspicuously Google him on her phone, but decides against it.

She’ll likely be facing him in the bail hearing. She knows of the state’s attorney – Armitage Hux. Fat chance Hux would show up at a hearing like this. The protest in question had been pretty high-profile, photos of the arrest had been on the front page of the  _ Tribune.  _

Cook County had their finest on the case, given the inevitable media attention that would accompany it. She doesn’t know much about Hux or his agenda, and she makes a mental note to check  _ Above the Law  _ for opinions later that evening.

As the machinery hums, she feels a prickling at the back of her neck. She’s being watched.

Without moving her head, she strains to glance out the corner of her eye, and finds his eyes fixed upon her, traveling up and down her body again. 

“There’s a lot I could teach you, you know. If you ever decided to stop working for my mother,” he remarks suddenly.

Rey clamps her jaw shut to prevent it from dropping to the floor with a thud. “Your – who now?”

The elevator chimes and the doors slide open.

Kyle – no, Ben – chuckles over his shoulder as he saunters away, briefcase swinging. She’s left with confusion, a sudden, throbbing pain behind her right eye, and the realization that she’d involuntarily been thrust into the tangled web of Cook County’s justice system before she’d ever even arrived.

♟♟♟

The circuit judge is a foreboding man named Canady, and Rey’s hasty research in the weeks prior had informed her that Judge Canady had an obscene reputation of skewing  _ far  _ right. Shitty luck. Thankfully, this was just the bail hearing.  

“Your Honor, my client has no prior offenses. He has strong ties to the community. He is not a flight risk.”

Canady looks over at Ben, who stands – unbuttoning his suit jacket as he does so – and runs a hand through coiffed locks. 

Rey  _ vividly  _ remembers the way they had felt between her own fingers.

“Your Honor, I steadfastly disagree. The client has family in Canada, and due to the high profile nature of this case, the State recommends he be remanded locally, and not at his Chicago townhome, as opposing counsel has argued,” he remarks.

Ben meets Rey’s eyes then, a glint in them.

“This is  _ sophistry,  _ your Honor,” Rey shouts as she gets up from the defense’s chair. Rey grits her teeth and looks back at Ben, then to the judge. “My client has  _ distant  _ family in Toronto. He is  _ not  _ going to abscond across Lake Michigan. He’s an activist, for goodness sake. This was a non-violent offense! He poses no threat to himself or the community.”

Canady interjects. “I’d tend to agree with ASA Solo here. This will be a high profile case, with media involvement, and for the safety of the defendant, I’m placing him in custody at the Cook County jail.”

He raises his gavel and levies his gaze squarely on Rey. "And if you use that tone with me again, Counselor, I will hold you in contempt. Court is adjourned.”

♟♟♟

She’s prepared this time when they find themselves alone yet again in the courthouse elevator.

He looks at her in amusement as she breathes evenly through her teeth.

“How did you know who I was, earlier? Who I worked for?” she asks sharply out of the corner of her mouth, trying to maintain her composure after her defeat in court. 

“I’m the Assistant State’s Attorney,  _ Jackie. _ Oh, or is it Rey?” he answers. Ah, he does remember the hotel room. “I always make sure to know who I’m facing in court. Do you?”

She turns to face him, her knuckles turning white as they clutch her briefcase. She searches his eyes as he holds her gaze. 

She chooses to ignore the jab regarding her alias.  _ He's _ one to talk. “Why not house arrest for a misdemeanor?” she chooses to inquire. It’s excessive to remand her defendant to custody for a situation like this. Even with the media attention.

He doesn’t answer her, instead turning back to his Blackberry. He's all business now.

Realization dawns on her while he’s silent. Oh. “You’re pursuing a Class 4 felony charge.”

She thinks she sees something flicker behind his eyes, but maybe it’s a trick of the fluorescent lighting. And as she studies his face, she finds herself wondering: how much of this case is in  _ his _ hands, really?

She remembers what Leia said about the governor and the upcoming elections. She’s seen this before. Ben is likely just a puppet, a cog in a machine. The games of chess  _ men  _ play with the justice system to prove a point and claw their way to the top.

“You think that’s excessive,” he finally says.

“I do,” she says pointedly, lifting her chin a bit.

He leans in, his face inches from hers. She can feel his breath, she can smell his cologne. 

She remembers the way he groaned when he came inside her. Accompanying that thought is also the vague, hazy memory of what had happened the following morning, and she feels venom seep through her veins.

“You do your job. I’ll stick to mine,” he whispers. His voice is so soft, like velvet, and despite her rage, she finds herself using an  _ incredible  _ amount of willpower not to flutter her eyes shut and lean into his voice. It sounds how whiskey tastes.

She rolls her eyes, her sanity returning after that momentary lapse, and swivels back to face the elevator doors. The elevator dings conveniently, giving her an escape route. She exits, refusing to look back over her shoulder, refusing to acknowledge him as she stomps away, even as she feels his eyes burning a hole into the pinstripes of her pantsuit.

♟♟♟

That night, she makes a Lean Cuisine. She curls up on a barstool at her granite kitchen island, and opens her laptop. She tells herself she’s living off the ‘meals for one’ section at Target because she hasn’t finished unpacking. The truth is, she’s not sure she can handle opening the boxes lining the walls of her studio just yet. She has half a mind to chuck everything in the dumpster and make a trip to West Elm. Really start fresh. Throw everything else out. 

Anyway, the spaghetti and meatballs option offered by Lean Cuisine can sustain her for at least a few more weeks.

She types  _ Ben Solo  _ into Google. The Illinois state government website spits back the first few top hits, as well as a few  _ Law360  _ results. She pauses at his  _ LinkedIn  _ result. He was Columbia Law as well. Interesting.

A _Tribune_ article catches her eye. The headline, in particular. **_Local_** **_assistant district attorney’s father convicted of securities fraud_** _._ She clicks through to the article, dated three years prior.

She nearly drops one of the microwaved meatballs off her fork as she begins to analyze Benjamin Solo’s sordid past.

_ Han Solo, 63, a former economics professor at Marshall College –  _ she stops chewing. So that’s the origin of the familiarity in Ben’s name. She files that away for mental processing. She continues to read, swallowing thickly, an acidic feeling rising in her throat.

... _ convicted of securities fraud… federal prison … the husband of local law magnate, Leia Organa … the case was pursued heavily by their son, local up-and-coming assistant district attorney Ben Solo  _ – at that, she picks up the little plastic carton, still half full, and dumps it in the trash.

No way she’s eating anymore tonight. She’s read enough.

♟♟♟

The next time they meet, the case has been removed to federal court, courtesy of one Benjamin Solo, J.D. They’re pursuing felony charges. She’d been hoping to keep this away from trial, but the SA’s office seemed keen on spectacle.

“The defendant has a notorious reputation for extremist environmental activism,” Ben is saying.

“Objection, your Honor! Hearsay.” Rey stands up enthusiastically, nearly spilling over the glass of water at her table.

The judge, a blonde woman named Phasma, rolls her eyes obviously, but entertains the request.

Ben interrupts. “Your Honor, the defendant is incredibly public on social media about his involvement with these social activist groups. It’s in evidence if the defense cared to review.”

Rey shoots him a hard stare, her brow furrowing. Their eyes meet across the courtroom, and he twirls his pen between his fingers.

“Your Honor, he is a  _ member  _ of  _ private  _ groups on Facebook. I would disagree with the notion that he is, as my colleague claims, incredibly public.”

The judge glances between the two of them. “Overruled. I’ll allow it. Please continue.”

Rey swears she sees a small smile form on Ben’s lips as she sits back down in a composed rage.

♟♟♟

During the next break, they find themselves gathered at the only snack machine available on the floor. Ben is eyeing up the organic treats on offer behind the plexiglass.

“Columbia Law, huh?” she mentions casually to his back. He doesn’t look back at her, instead punching his selection into the keypad.

“Somebody learned how to Google,” he responds.

She chooses not to respond to his snark. “Me too. Class of 2016. But you likely already knew that.”

He doesn’t respond, hitting the plexiglass in frustration as an energy bar catches in one of the hooks.

“And you know where I did my undergrad?” Silence. “Marshall College.” She forces herself to hold back a knowing grin. Give him a taste of his own medicine.

His hand flattens against the glass then, stilling. So he wasn’t as much of a master sleuth as he thought he was. If he had been, she guesses his reaction would have been much different. He abandons his energy bar in the machine, turning to face her. She’s caught him off guard with  _ that  _ nugget of information.

She takes advantage of this. “Let’s move this to settlement talks,  _ Kyle. _ I’m sure we can draw up a plea bargain that’s agreeable to  _ everyone _ involved. We don’t need to drag this to trial. I’m sure Cook County has better things to do with its time.”

His hand forms into a fist, his knuckles turning white. He lets out an exasperated groan, and storms away, ignoring her and her proposition.

♟♟♟

The courtroom is empty, the jury long since dismissed. Rey and Ben had requested a sidebar in a fit of annoyance, and Phasma had acquiesced. 

Now they stand in front of her bench, yelling, faces mere inches away from each other.

He's spraying spit with the force of his words and she's stomping her feet on the hardwood floor to punctuate her jabs. Phasma is trying to get a word in edgewise, get their attention, but they are laser focused on each other, and ignoring her. It’s becoming quite the spectacle.

“Absolutely  _ not! _ I will  _ not  _ let my client be convicted for precedent! This is –”

“– will  _ learn to respect  _ –”

“– horseshit, this was a misdemeanor and  _ you know it _ , go back to  _ Armitage Hux  _ and tell him –”

“– absolutely will not settle like this –”

“–  _ bigger fish to fry  _ than a case like this, really, unless there’s something not in evidence you’re failing to share with the court –”

“– you’re  _ so right  _ , you caught me –”

In the midst of this, they miss the court officers that have appeared behind them. Phasma narrows her eyes at them, and Rey and Ben still, the court officers restraining them with their arms behind their backs.

“Naturally, you’re both being held in contempt,” Phasma declares evenly.

Ben opens his mouth to argue with her, but both Rey and Phasma shush him.

Phasma taps her fingers against her jaw, looking upwards as if she’s considering. “Let’s go with a $10,000 fine. Each. I’m dismissing this. You’re to settle this case. If I have to come back next week to this utter…” her voice lowers, she hisses at them, “ _ shitshow, _ I will not be happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A case like this can go through varying levels of circuit and district courts, hence the transition from Canady to Phasma. 
> 
> Unlike the LOST writers, I have answers to... mostly everything... 
> 
>  
> 
> [Hollow laughter](http://indianajones.wikia.com/wiki/Marshall_College)


	3. Assuming Facts Not in Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And how do people relax these days?” he inquires. 
> 
> “Like they have been for millennia."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author is back on her bullshit! Is legalese even a kink?
> 
> Honestly there's some serious suspense of disbelief here regarding the... intimate relations between a Democrat and a Republican. Let's assume the political climate in this universe isn't as... tense... as it is in reality.

**** It’s half past five in the morning, and Rey is hovering by the Starbucks pickup counter, waiting for a mobile order she had placed on the app. Normally, she’d take her coffee over and walk along the riverwalk near City Winery, but today she’s expected back for an outrageously early internal office meeting. Leia is taking the opportunity to read the riot act regarding billable hours to junior associates. 

“One… triple venti nonfat no foam extra caramel caramel macchiato!” The barista barks, sliding a cup onto the counter and resuming her duties. Rey scoffs as she scrolls through emails on her phone. What a ridiculous order. 

She senses a menacing presence as she continues to scroll, and glances up. Oh, it’s him.

“What are you doing inside the Loop?” she asks him, looking back down at her phone as he collects his obscene order.

“I’ve got a meeting at City Hall,” he indulges her inquiry.

“That’s like, five blocks away,” she’s incredulous.

“I like to sit down by the park ledges on the river.”

“Oh, by the silver bean thing?” she asks. He furrows his brow at her in response. Why the  _ fuck _ is she trying to make small talk with this guy? He’s a registered Republican. 

“No, that’s Millenium Park. See you Wednesday,” he says, almost with disdain, and brushes past her with his triple venti nonfat no foam extra caramel caramel macchiato.

♟♟♟

Come Wednesday, they’ve gathered at Organa and Associates to try and settle the case. They’ve been at it for thirteen hours now. The office emptied and the sun set long ago. The catered coffee in the middle of the table has gone cold. Leia had set them up in one of the conference rooms, a corner space with a view over the Chicago River, before making herself scarce in an effort to avoid confrontation with her estranged son. 

It’s clear they won’t come to a decision tonight. Rey is painfully aware that she may need to request negotiations directly with the judge.

He had dismissed his assistant, a fidgety young man named Finn, long ago, and only Rey and Ben remained at the table. It’s been a week since their heated encounter in the courtroom. He’s prone to more outbursts than the average lawyer, she’s observed. It’s been strangely effective thus far. Today was less messy, although she suspects it has something to do with the fact he’s in his mother’s law offices (Leia had made herself scarce earlier that morning).

“I suppose we’re done here,” she murmurs, packing her laptop into her case. She reaches up to adjust her hair, tightly coiled in a bun at the nape of her neck. 

“We have until Friday,” he says softly. Rey notes the dark circles beneath his eyes. The usual vitriol she feels around him eases for a moment. It’s his  _ eyes _ , damn it. There’s something about them, they never quite match the rest of him, or his demeanor.

Does he ever let off any steam? How? She pauses at that train of thought, reminding herself he  _ had _ had sex with a  _ stranger _ \- her - merely weeks earlier. Was that his modus operandi? Did he golf? Quilt? Take improv?

She nods at his comment. Hopefully, they could settle before the end of the week and avoid the wrath of Phasma. 

“I’ve got to grab a few deposition transcripts from my office. Then I can walk you out,” she picks up her briefcase. His visitor badge would only work alongside hers, for security reasons. Leia took no chances.

He trails behind her. When she gets to her office, he hovers in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

She clears her desk of the piles that have gathered there, throwing a few folders on top of her filing cabinet as she searches for the materials she needs.

She so desperately wants to ask him about what had happened at the hotel a month ago. Unfortunately, it’s emotional labor she’s not inclined to engage in, not right now. And, after all, her memory of that night is still a bit hazy. 

“You know. I liked your father,” she says conversationally. “He was a bit of a…” she hesitates, “...mentor to me.”

“He would have been caught eventually. I did him a favor,” he responds quickly, offhandedly. 

She chuckles at his reply. He wasn’t wrong. They both knew it, especially after she had done additional research on the matter. On the reality of the situation. Han Solo wasn’t the most law-abiding citizen, as it turned out.

“I’m not saying this because I care,” she turns to face him, “but you need to learn to relax. I can’t continue racking up court fines during our encounters.”

“And how do people relax these days?” he inquires. 

She tilts her head. Rey then walks around her desk, approaching his form in the doorway. He doesn’t make any attempt to move away from her. At that, she pulls him inside her office by the tie around his neck, nudging the door slightly closed.

He moves with her, but his hands remain at his sides. She can’t read his face. She  _ hates _ that.

“Like they have been for  millennia ,” is her response.

He lifts his hands to linger centimeters from the fabric at her hips. 

“Tell me you don’t want this.” It’s not a threat. He just states it to her. He’s not even prompting her, because frankly, he’s sure they both already know the answer. Despite the lingering bitterness between them, she’s still drawn to him. She wonders if he feels it too. Talk about reaching across the aisle.

“You’re horrible,” she’s not sure if she’s referring to the settlement discussions. 

“I am.”

She doesn’t stop him when his hands finally make contact. He rests them on her hips and she shifts into his touch, pressing into his hands. They’re as massive as she remembers. His thumbs caress her hip bones through the linen of her skirt. 

Her eyes travel to the door of her office as he leans in and his lips make contact with her collarbone. Despite her earlier attempt to close it, it’s open an inch or so, and light streams in. She hesitates, considering making a move to shut the door, but -- 

He backs her up against the filing cabinet behind her desk as his fingers grip her tighter. She lets out a soft gasp when her back meets the metal.

Ben’s fingers travel down to the hem of her skirt, lifting it up to reveal the wool stockings that cease to exist at her mid thigh. She’s always hated pantyhose. She swears she notices his eyebrows raise at the realization she’s been wearing thigh-highs this entire time.

His fingers ghost the edges of the black fabric of her underwear at the apex of her thighs. He pushes it aside, his fingers slipping underneath, just as he presses forward, his lips meeting hers, kissing her.

She pulls away from his mouth for a moment to lean in, press her lips against his earlobe, and whisper, “You’re going to bend me over and fuck my pussy until I can’t walk, do you understand?”

With that, she trails her lips across his jawline, and bites his bottom lip. His hands glide up to her waist, where he twists her around towards her recently cleared workspace.

Ben pushes her over at the small of her back, holding her down as he presses her into the desk. He uses his foot to spread her legs slightly, roughly jerking her skirt up and yanking her underwear down her thighs. He gets on his knees.

Then he’s kneeling behind her, pressing his mouth into her, with his tongue probing, tracing every wet part of her until she’s gasping, forcing herself to cover her own mouth with a hand to stifle the involuntary noises she’s making. 

His tongue travels from her clit up towards her slit, before he fucks her with his tongue. She feels his hands gripping her thighs tightly, and has a brief thought -- how badly she wants his fingers to leave bruises there. She wants to be in court tomorrow, with finger-shaped marks on the inside of her thighs. She wants to feel the reminder of this every time she stands to object to  _ every _ motion of his.

At this angle, she’s blind to his actions, but she feels a finger press against her and slide in with ease, her eyes pressing shut, her breath becoming shaky. She reaches a hand back to grab at something, anything - and he frees his other hand from where it’s gripped around her thigh so that he can entangle the fingers of his free hand with hers.

His fingers are impossibly huge. She loves to watch his fingers in court, as he motions with his hands. She loved watching the way he twirled his pen during an earlier voir dire. She’s imagined this more than once, feeling  _ any _ part of him inside her once again, but nothing could have prepared her for how impossibly full she feels with a single finger.

She’s absolutely  _ heady _ with the feel of how he’s stretching her so gratuitously. Her hand has become sweaty where she’s gripping his, and she presses crescent-shaped marks into the spaces between his knuckles. She hopes she draws blood. 

Greedily, she murmurs into the table beneath her, “Another.”

He obliges, and she feels herself strain to accommodate another one of his fingers. He kneads into her, and she’s so wet, she can hear the obscene sounds his fingers make as he moves them within her. He curls them into her then, applying pressure along the front of her pussy, and she feels her thighs shake as he locates the spot that elicits a whimper from the back of her throat.

He grabs her suddenly, lifting her up off the desk and back upright against his chest. He disengages the fingers of his right hand, lifting them to her mouth from behind her, tracing her lips with the taste of herself. She bites at his fingertips, twisting in his arms to face him before taking his fingers in her mouth and sucking herself off him. Her gaze meet his, and his eyes are brown to begin with, but in the dim lighting, they’re dark, but she can only just make out the size of his pupils. They’ve nearly encompassed the entirety of his iris.

“Regarding today’s discussions, I propose a plea bargain of six months community service,” she whispers as she releases his fingers with a wet pop. 

“There’s no way.” He glances at his fingers, wet with her saliva. “Even if we settle. A felony, and twelve months in penitentiary, maybe six on good behavior. Agree, and I’ll fuck you,” he responds, tracing his fingers down her jaw, down her neck, and pinching her nipple through the silk of her shirt.

She doesn’t respond, instead reaching down to unbuckle his trousers whilst maintaining eye contact.

“No, but you’re still going to fuck me,” she finally replies, her small hands dipping beneath his boxers, encircling the length of him.

He rolls his eyes. Stepping on her tiptoes, she ghosts her lips against his. 

She knows he’ll do as she says. 

She finds his hand pressed against her sternum then, and he unbuttons her silk blouse ever so slightly, leaving a hint of her brassiere exposed. He pushes her down to the desk again, this time with her back pressed flat against her desk calendar. She watches as his hands lift her skirt farther up around her waist and proceed to encircle her thighs, hooking them up and around his hips.

His fingers dip between her legs again, his thumb pressed to her clit as he begins to press himself into her. 

Exasperated, she leans forward a bit, her hands reaching around to his buttocks and pulling him closer, and eager to assist him in this endeavor. He lets out a startled sound, a groan from the back of his throat. He slides into her, deliciously, until he bottoms out, his pelvis pressed flush against her ass, and the sensation of being filled makes her arch her back. She releases him, her arms flailing out to knock over a mug.

He leans over her then, beginning to move. He bites at her earlobe and she gasps. Every moment that he slides out of her, even if for a second, leaves her whimpering, desperate for him. Each wave, each roll of his hips, he grabs her hands with his, entwining their fingers.

“This is what you think about, isn’t it. When I’m cross-examining,” she whispers to him. 

He groans. 

“You hate it. You want to push me up against the witness stand. You want to have me on the clerk’s table, just like this,” she continues, her voice shaky as his hip movements become speedy and erratic. 

“Rey, please,” he’s incoherent. Her name is the only sound he can formulate, now.

“Tomorrow, in court, I want you to think about this. How wet I am. How I feel around you,” She’s gasping now. Her eyes travel to the door of her office again, still cracked open slightly. 

She fights to free her hands from his, reaching up to claw her fingers down his back through his shirt. He uses a free hand to reach between them, rubbing hasty circles against her clit. Her eyes close tightly. She raises her legs to hook heeled feet up and around his back, pressing him even closer to her. She loves the feeling of him leaning over her, on top of her. She loves the way he covers her, hot and heavy, the sound of his desperate gasps as he thrusts into her, every delicious shockwave that seeps through her like honey as he fills her trembling cunt. 

A few more circles of his fingers, and she’s coming undone, quivering beneath him, her thighs shaking as she grips her legs  _ tighter  _ and  _ tighter _ around him, and she throws her head back, exposing her neck. He mouths the sensitive skin there, leaving wet kisses in his wake.

As she comes down, breathily, she gasps, “Come inside me,” and he obliges. She feels him fill her, and she grins at the knowledge, the visual of what it will look like seeping out of her and onto her thigh… onto the desk beneath her.

She smirks as he finishes, and a knowing moment passes between them. She remains horizontal on the desk. He kneels before her, spreading her thighs wide to press his mouth against her, licking himself out of her cunt, slowly, methodically. 

His fingers press into her again, filling her, satisfying the empty ache she’s begun to feel once more, and they curl upwards.

The combination of his tongue against her clit and his fingers within her, moving faster, moving within her --speeding up -- she’s arching her back again, she’s making sounds in her throat that make her  _ pray _ the paralegals have departed the office -- and she falls apart beneath him once more, knowing he’s licking his own come out of her, knowing he’s on his knees for her, knowing he’ll do this over and over again, if she asked him to…

She unravels, her eyes wrinkled shut as her thighs shake, her fingers traveling to his hair, pressing his head farther into her.

♟♟♟

The next day in court, she feels bruises on her thighs, and she’s left with a small smile and confidence as she presses a pen to her lips during Ben’s direct of a witness, and satisfaction when his voice falters as she catches his eye and presses the cap of her pen between her teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, folks, practice safe sex:  
> https://www.bedsider.org/  
> https://www.plannedparenthood.org/


	4. Conflicts of Interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by Emotional Immaturity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f4wZUoLlKX0) to get you in the mood, if that's your thing.
> 
> We've got a time jump (backwards) this chapter, which I designate, but just keep an eye out!

 

It’s important to note that any settlements made mid-coitus are considered billable, and Rey adjusts her timesheet accordingly for the brief negotiations she had carried out in her office with Ben. 

Rey manages to plead out the pro bono case with three months of jail time and six months of community service. Although, she suspects her client will be out in 30 days on good behavior. 

She doubts it’s the last time she will cross paths with Ben Solo, either in a professional or… personal capacity.

If Leia is aware of Rey’s extracurricular activities with her estranged son, she doesn’t mention it, but the woman isn’t dumb. Leia prefers to focus on harnessing Rey’s intensity in the courtroom. It’s also come to light that, when Rey isn’t distracted by certain members of the state’s attorney’s office, she has a knack for settling cases and logging an obscene number of billable hours per month. 

♟♟♟

Two months after they plead out on the pro bono, Ben texts her late one night, asking if she’s up.

_ You up? _

She blinks at the screen as she leans forward on her air mattress in her apartment (still not unpacked). Did he just… was this what she thought it was?

_ It’s 1:30am. Of course I am.  _ Is her response.  _ How did you get this number? _

Him:  _ It’s in your email signature.  _

She cuts to the chase.  _ Just text me your address, and I’ll come over.  _ She sets her phone down, already pulling on a pair of loose fitting lounge pants and a cardigan. 

♟♟♟

He lives in an obscenely gorgeous walk-up in Gold Coast, complete with red brick and ornate ironwork detailing. He’s two blocks from the lakefront. She’s horrendously jealous, as she knows an ASA salary isn’t  _ that _ offensive. She does know Leia comes from old money. 

They lie together, tangled in each other’s limbs. They each regard the other carefully in the early morning dawn. Light seeps through his curtains, bathing half of his angular face in a soft glow. His hair is an absolute mess, and hangs in dark, frizzy tendrils. 

“Tell me about your father,” she says softly, her voice muffled a bit by the pillow.

He breaks their shared gaze, turning his head towards the ceiling and pressing a thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. 

“What did my mother tell you, then?”

“Nothing. We don’t speak about you.”

“Likely a colossal conflict of interest.”

“I’m aware.”

“The situation’s more... nuanced than she’d have you believe.”

“I’d assume so.”

He turns back to face her then, and makes a motion as if to tuck her hair behind her ear, before realizing the intimacy of gesture and pulling his hand away. The arrangement they have isn’t about the intimacy. She likes to think it’s precisely about the lack thereof.

Now she turns away, lying on her back and beginning to fiddle with her cuticles.

“I read that you were the one who pursued the case.”

“Technically, due to my… connection to the case, I was taken off the it practically as soon as I had begun the investigation.”

“You know, I took a few classes with him. At Marshall.”

Ben makes a small sound of acknowledgment. “And exactly how good were you at microeconomics?”

“Did you hate him? I don’t get it.”

Ben exhales loudly. “He was only  _ convicted _ of securities fraud. I won’t even get started on the suspected bond forgery and racketeering.”

Rey groans loudly. “I don’t  _ believe _ you.” She aggressively grabs the top sheet off his bed and wraps it around herself, covering her body from his view. She takes a moment to notice her clothes strewn across his minimally decorated bedroom. 

He follows her as she pads furiously into the kitchen, where she begins to fiddle with his espresso machine. She’s wrapped the sheet around her like cape. He becomes exasperated as she ignores him. As she loads the portafilter, he massages his temples, conflicted over the route this post-coital conversation has taken.

“Why are you bringing this up now?” He asks finally. 

“We’ve slept together. We’ve faced each other in court. I don’t know anything about  **_you_ ** ,” she says hastily, watching the espresso drip into one of the mugs she finds in a glass front cupboard. She hasn’t offered him any.

“You know enough,” Ben retorts. 

She grabs the mug and drinks out of it furiously.

“Do you remember that night?” All bets are off.

There had been something unspoken between them. They hadn’t mentioned it. It had been this thing between them, inarticulated, linking them both. The things they had shared that night. They had both been their most open, she reckoned, they had allowed each other to be guests within each other’s minds. Most likely because they believed neither would see the other again. 

Her own memory of it all is hazy at best. 

He walks around her, to his stainless steel fridge, and yanks it open. Rey notes that it’s primarily empty. There’s a dozen eggs, a bag of kale, and a single avocado. He regards the meager options.

“I remember enough.”

“What happened?” she sets down her mug.

“I think you should go,” he grabs the mug from the counter where she’s left it, and takes a sip.

And so she does.

♟♟♟   
  


** _APPROXIMATELY SIX MONTHS EARLIER_ **

She giggles into the mattress beneath her, pulling a pillow over her head as she’s regarded by the man in bed next to her. She feels vulnerable beneath his gaze.

“What next?” she asks, pulling the pillow to the side and shoving it up against the headboard for her to lean against.

“We could call room service,” he offers, and she nods eagerly.

“And, raid the minibar?” she adds, letting her eyes wander around the room, and he points towards a small fridge in the corner of the room. She hauls ass towards it, grabbing as many miniatures as her small hands can fit.

He shifts in the bed and grabs the phone from the nightstand to place an order.

After they’ve absolutely destroyed a helping of strawberries and cream, champagne, and a bucket of fries, they lean back and put on HBO.

“I was adopted,” she remarks suddenly, playing with her champagne flute before setting it on the nightstand.

He looks up at her then.

“I had a rough go of it, you know? After I graduated from Columbia, I hired a private investigator with leftover cash from my loans to hunt them down. My birth parents,” her words slur a bit here, and she falls over on the pillow. He laughs softly.

“And?” he prods.

“They’re ghosts. Poof!” She waves her hands in the air, imitating smoke. “Maz tracked them to Somerville, which is why I took the public defender job here. I actually wondered… maybe they’d end up on my side of the bench, one day, you know? From what I found out, they weren’t real… law-abiding folks,” she reaches for another miniature, opting for Jim Beam. She sips, making a scrunched face as it burns her throat.

He says something quietly then, but she’s too tipsy to process it. “What?”

He shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

“Anyway, I feel alone, constantly. I came to this city thinking I’d find something. I thought I’d find answers in this new place, you know? But now I’m two years out of law school. I’ve never felt more alone.”

“You’re not,” he responds, and she laughs at this. 

He’s looking at her with soft, tired, sleepy eyes. He leans his head back on the pillow as she sips her bourbon. 

“What’s your story?” 

Something in his eyes flickers, there’s something earnest there she notices now. But maybe she’s just drunk.

“I wanted… to do something, in the world,” he’s saying. She nods, recognizing this. “I guess you could say I have… something to live up to.”

_ She can’t relate. _

The next morning, she wakes with a wicked hangover.

She reaches an arm out across the bed, expecting to feel a body beside her, but instead she finds the other side cool and empty.

Rey shoots up, her hair a tousled halo around her face. She squints at the bright light pouring in through the hotel window. There’s a rapid knocking coming from the hotel room door.

She stumbles out of bed, finding her dress from last night and slipping it on over her head. She trips forward, feeling at the wall for leverage as she makes her way towards the door.

The housekeeper greets her with an angry glare. “Checkout was an hour ago,” the woman informs her.

Rey swears, loudly. The housekeeper furrows her brow at this. Rey shuts the door in the woman’s face, retreating back into the room to gather the remnants of her clothing from last night. Bra, underwear, shoes, a purse? A coat?

In one last, feeble attempt to convince herself that what she suspected was happening  _ wasn’t _ happening, she peeks into the hotel room bathroom. It’s empty.

He’s left her. She doesn’t even know his name, and yet she feels something deep within her. She can  _ barely _ remember last night, but she remembers enough. She knows they spoke. She knows that, even as two strangers, he could have afforded her the courtesy of a farewell… but he’s nowhere to be found. 

And with that, Rey hurries out of the hotel. What happened here can stay here. She wouldn’t have to worry about him ever again.   
  



	5. Adrenaline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In case it wasn’t abundantly clear, I tend to lean firmly left of center,” comes her response.
> 
> “I’m a firm believer in bipartisanship,” he takes a step forward, looming over her and placing a hand on a shelf above her head, caging her in.
> 
> \--
> 
> Snoke has a future in mind for our young Ben Solo. There's also law library shenanigans in a distinctly X-rated type of way, I guess.
> 
> Many thanks to [Mixy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/afalsebravado/pseuds/afalsebravado) for inspiration in this chapter, and for the beta alongside the lovely [Chel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/destinies/works). Y'all are the best.

It’s important to remember that all our experiences are victim to our own perception.

Very rarely do we know the whole story, and our truth is our truth alone.

At least, that’s what a young Ben Solo’s uncle had tried to teach him.

♟♟♟

Snoke had reserved them a private room at a steakhouse, as he usually did, once a month. These dinners were crucial to Ben’s growth and professional development, Snoke insisted. Especially with an election year on the horizon. Snoke had two years left in office, but the Illinois senatorial campaigns were upon them.

They had a protocol for these meetings. It’s not that the governor of Illinois couldn’t meet with the state’s attorney (Hux) and the ASA (Ben). It wasn’t that. It’s just that, monthly? At this steakhouse, with the mahogany paneled walls and the red velvet curtains? Consider the optics.

And Ben knew Snoke had one thing, and one thing only, on his mind.

“If anyone’s running for senator, it’s me,” Hux was scoffing over his french onion soup.

Snoke shot him a glare, and silence filled the private room as Snoke stabbed his steak knife into the table space adjacent to Hux’s hand. Hux withdrew his hand like a wounded puppy, cowering into his seat.

“You, _Armitage,”_ Snoke growled, leaning forward, “do not have the _pedigree_ our young Solo has. I’ve already spoken to the RNC.”

Hux knew better than to argue with this, but he rolled his eyes a bit and poked at his soup with a spoon dejectedly.

“Solo,” Snoke hissed, “your grandfather would have been proud. How far you’ve come these past few years.”

Ben fiddled with his napkin, and nodded, a feeling he assumed to be excitement pooling in his chest. It made his heart race and his palms sweat. He was excited.

And really, that’s all Ben wanted. To make his grandfather proud. He had died years ago… and though Ben did not carry his last name, he was determined to maintain the great legacy of the Skywalkers. The family name, truly, was unparalleled in politics in the latter half of the twentieth century. While the name had fallen out of grace, it was his opportunity to bring it back. He could make it happen, he was sure of it.

♟♟♟

Ben Solo knew he’d cross paths with her again. It wasn’t that he actively sought out this next meeting, but it had settled into the back of his mind, a truth he chose not to deny. They had found themselves inside the same labyrinth. There would be intersections here and there, despite their drastically different paths.

He spots her through the stacks at the Cook County Law Library.

Her hair is half up, half down. Part of it is looped into a little bun at the back of her head. She’s in a loose, flowy blouse and a taupe pencil skirt. She’s lost in thought, trailing her fingers along the spines of several yellowing binders.

Ben is staring intently through the gaps between the books separating them.

He sees her brows furrow, and her eyes snap through through the space separating them to meet his.

He holds her gaze for a few seconds, and they’re both incredibly still. He wonders which of them will be the first to break. She shoves a binder back into place, partially obscuring his view of her again, and she breaks their stare-down and continues down the aisle, a charade of searching for another document.

He saunters on over to her aisle, then, leaning up against the stacks and letting his eyes drift over her face, the way her hairline curves above her ear. A small freckle at the base of her neck.

“Not right now. Not in the mood,” she whispers.

He looks around the vacant library. It’s too early for there to be a crowd here. He, of course, has privileged access to the library. He wonders how she got in.

“Did my mother pull strings to get you in here this early?” he inquires, noting she’s prowling trade law.

“That,” she shoves another binder into place, “is none of your business, as we’ve made clear.”

“Have you ever considered a foray into politics, Rey?” he finds himself asking as his mind drifts to his meeting with Snoke the other day. She squints over at him.

“In case it wasn’t abundantly clear, I tend to lean firmly _left_ of center,” comes her response.

“I’m a firm believer in bipartisanship,” he takes a step forward, looming over her and placing a hand on a shelf above her head, caging her in.

“Oh, let me guess, you’re only _fiscally_ conservative,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm and disgust.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he grips the shelf harder.

“Like you said, I know enough,” she finds herself reaching out, a finger trailing down his shirt. This is the most casual she’s ever even seen him. His shirt is a dark blue, cotton blend. His sleeves are rolled up around his elbows, and he’s got on a pair of dark grey slacks. The rolled up sleeves accent his forearms, and she internally appreciates the outline of his muscles there.

Ben lowers his eyes to follow the path of her finger over his chest. She’s fiddling with a button now, tentative.

He releases his grip on the shelf above her, then, and brings his hands to her waist, lifting her up. In a fluid movement, as if she had anticipated this, she nestles her feet snugly around the back of his waist.

He notes how fucking _tiny_ Rey is, and how easily he could hold her here, supported slightly by the bookshelf, her legs around his waist, his arms drifting down to firmly cup her ass.

“How long are we going to keep this up?” she asks, a rhetorical question, before leaning forward and taking his bottom lip between her teeth and biting, pulling a bit.

Her hands find their way to the back of his head, curling into his hair and tugging. He’s a fan of that sensation, and pulls her closer, kissing her, _hard_.

At first, it’s open-mouthed and messy. It’s teeth and spit and it doesn’t quite feel like enough. But then the aggression turns into something else, and their lips lock together, and it balances out. He actually finds himself softening against her, and she him. It’s slow, almost languid, and almost as soon as he realizes this change he’s dropping her legs back to the floor and letting her go.

Her lips are red, and her hair sticks out slightly from where it’s been shoved up against the bookshelf. _And Ben,_ well, he’s an absolute mess as well. His shirt is crumpled now, wrinkled, and he’s got a bit of a cowlick at the crown of his head. Where his hair was coiffed earlier, now it’s a mess, falling over into his eyes.

Something in his chest unravels, slightly. An impulsive coil that makes him lunge for her again, flipping her around so that she’s facing the bookshelf and her back is arched into his chest.

She gasps, but presses into him slowly, her hands gripping the shelves in an attempt at balance. His hands slip down to the front hem of her skirt, and he lifts it so that his right hand can travel up her thigh. She whimpers a bit, and he looks around, casting a glance down either side of the aisle of bookshelves to confirm their privacy. There’s nobody in sight.

He resumes, and he notes she’s wearing thigh-highs again, a discovery which makes him rut slightly into her ass before he softly traces her through her underwear. The fabric there is slightly damp, and he leans forward to grin into the place where her shoulder meets her neck, biting her softly. The sound of her breathing gets a bit louder.

Ben traces her for a moment, before dipping beneath the fabric at the soft juncture of her inner thigh, his fingers finding the deliciously heated, impossibly soft flesh there.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of how _wet_ you get for me,” he mumbles into her neck. His breath tickles her sensitive skin there, and she shudders.

He struggles for a moment, but manages to slide his middle and ring fingers into her from where he’s positioned behind her. Rey fits perfectly into the curve of him, where he’s leaning over her.

He curls them slightly, and he feels her spread her legs wider, allowing better access. She lets out a small whine when he flicks his thumb over her clit.

He realizes if they’re going to carry this through, precautions will need to be made. His left hand releases his hold on her waist and he presses it over her mouth at the same time he plunges his fingers even _deeper_ into her, pressing his thumb even harder over that bundle of nerves…

He captures her moan in his hand, exactly as planned.

Ben moves his lips away from her neck, and begins to suck at her earlobe, curling his fingers deep within her cunt. He doesn’t care about the noises she’s releasing into his hand now. He feels his palm getting slightly wet, which only makes him harder, which only makes him pump into her with more vigor.

He adjusts his lips once more, pressing them firmly to the spot on her jugular, sucking softly there, and he notes how she shivers, how he can see gooseflesh forming across the skin slightly exposed by her blouse.  

She shudders forcefully, then, with a finality, biting his palm in the process, and had she not been supported by one of his hands around her mouth and the other deep within her pussy, he bets she would have collapsed on the floor. At least, he’d like to think that was the case.

He pulls his hand from her, sucking the remnants of her climax off his fingers deviously.

She takes a moment, shakily, and moves away from him, smoothing her skirt and adjusting her blouse.

“We’ve given the Daley Center enough of a show for the day, I reckon,” she says softly, a hitch in her voice. There’s a hint of something in the way she speaks, now. He nods in agreement, and lets her walk away.

He observes she’s failed to find a document or a binder to take with her.

♟♟♟

“How was the drive here?” Snoke asks conversationally as he flips through a folio on his desk. Ben had taken the day to drive to Springfield, and met him at the executive mansion.

“Fine,” Ben responds, taking a seat in the leather armchair in front of the large, ornate desk. Every time he comes here, he half expects a white persian cat to jump out from behind a curtain, or something.

“You know what these are, Ben?” Snoke waves his hand over the folio. Ben shakes his head. “This is message testing. We’ve put together a focus group, and I’m confident in your next steps. It’s time for action.”

Ben understands the implication, and stiffens a bit in his chair. Snoke leans forward, pressing the intercom button on his desk phone, and barks into it. “Mitaka, send in Bazine.”

Illinois Republicans have the names of cartoon villains, Ben observes.

Both doors behind him burst open dramatically, and he turns to watch a tall woman enter the office.

“Ben Solo, meet Bazine Netal. Your campaign manager. She comes highly recommended,” Snoke announces with fervor.

Her eyebrows are perfectly manicured, carved thick and dramatic above her piercing eyes. She wears her black hair styled into a sleek bob, with razor sharp bangs cut high on her forehead. Her cheekbones are pronounced, punctuating her angular features.

“We’re putting you on ABC 7 after the announcement. Can you handle that?” is her greeting, as she strides up and stands uncomfortably close to him.

He finds himself barely startled by her sudden proximity and the sharpness in her voice.

“When do we make the announcement?” he asks, his eyes drifting from Bazine to Snoke. Snoke has leaned back into his plush leather desk chair now, steepling his hands under his chin, a happy grin on his wrinkled face.

“Tomorrow,” Snoke murmurs, nodding.

Ben feels it again, then – the excitement. His heart races, and skips a beat. His palms become clammy, and he feels his pulse in his jugular. His vision goes a bit blurry, tunneling.

“I can’t wait,” is Ben’s response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is the Cook County Law Library at the Daley Center.](https://www.flickr.com/photos/leafmaker/3986687186)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [This is the Illinois executive mansion, in Springfield.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Illinois_Executive_Mansion#/media/File:Executive_Mansion.JPG) Let’s consider it this universe’s equivalent of the Supremacy.
> 
> If you need a reminder, [Bazine was in The Force Awakens](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Bazine_Netal). She’s the one who gets the First Order to come reign hellfire on Maz’s castle. Apparently, she’s a bounty hunter? In this universe, she’s a political wonk, I guess. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Snoke tbh](https://www.who2.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/ernststavroblofeld-2-500x730.jpg)

**Author's Note:**

> Some [legal humor](https://youtu.be/PZbqAMEwtOE) for you if you feel so inclined.
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr: [arroways](https://arroways.tumblr.com/)  
> or Twitter: [@arr0ways](https://twitter.com/arr0ways)
> 
> March 19, 2018 note: This fic is just very temporarily on pause while I work on another WIP (you should go check it out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13873560/chapters/31917228)), so after I'm done with that I'll be back here! I was trying to write too many things at the same time!


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